Рита Браун - The Purrfect Murder

2

One acre of sunflowers towered over another acre of Italian sunflowers, their beautiful heads turned toward the sun. The centers, heavy with seeds, barely moved in the light breeze, which lifted the leaves on the wide, hollow stalks.

Harry pulled the truck alongside the barn, cut the motor, and hopped out. Before returning to her chores, she stood, hands on hips, admiring the rich yellows of the big sunflowers and the subtle greenish white of the Italian variety. A twelve-foot grass swath ran between the sunflower acres and the grapes, pendulous beauties drooping on the vine. Since this was their first year, the grapes would not be picked but allowed to winter on the vine. This would thrill the foxes and birds.

“Come on.”

Mrs. Murphy and Tucker followed.

“I need a nap.” Pewter hesitated.

“I’m sure you do,” Mrs. Murphy agreed.

The tiger’s ready reply made Pewter suspicious. Mrs. Murphy and Tucker must be hiding something.

Harry walked along, Tucker alongside her, Mrs. Murphy behind, and Pewter bringing up the rear.

“Thought you wanted a nap,” Tucker called over her shoulder.

“Decided I needed the exercise.” Pewter’s dark-gray fur shone, a sign of her overall health.

As they walked through the sunflower rows, insects buzzing, Harry paused, ran her fingers over a large head, then moved on. “Time for some rain.”

A huge fake owl on a stake had thwarted some birds, but the blue jay paid no mind. Consequently, he’d eaten so much over the last month that his speed suffered. A red oak in the pasture next to the sunflower acres provided him with a refuge. He unfurled his topknot once the cats came into view. Lifting off, he circled the party once.

“Pissants.”

Pewter glanced up. “Butt ugly.”

The jay swooped low, just missing Pewter as he emitted what he’d eaten earlier. Satisfied, he returned to the red oak.

“One day,” Pewter grumbled.

“Least it wasn’t a direct hit.” Tucker tried to look on the bright side. The dog swiveled her large ears, then barked, “Susan.”

The cats stopped, turning their heads to listen for the Audi station wagon. It was a quarter mile from the house, but they, too, could hear the motor. Few humans can distinguish the unique sounds each set of tires produce, but for the dog and cats this was as easy as identifying someone wearing squeaky shoes.

As the wagon approached the house, Harry finally heard it and turned to behold an arching plume of dust. “Damn, we really do need rain.”

They walked briskly toward the house.

Susan met them halfway. “Hey, sugar.”

Sweeping her arm wide, Harry beamed. “Can you believe it?”

Susan stopped, putting her hands on her hips. “Promiscuous in fertility and abundance.”

“Worried about rain.”

“Me, me, me.” Susan bent down to scratch Tucker’s ears.

“More.”

“Me, too.” Pewter rubbed against Susan’s leg, so she petted the gray cannonball.

Harry slipped her arm through Susan’s as they stood there for a moment admiring the yield. “Agriculture is still the basis of all wealth. Can’t have industry or high tech if people can’t eat.”

Susan nodded. “Course, most people have forgotten that.”

Harry smiled as they walked back to the house, the blue jay squawking after them.

As they passed the barn, Simon, the opossum, stuck his head out of the open loft doors. “Save me some cookies.”

Harry and Susan looked up at him, for he was semi-tame.

“If I don’t eat them first.” Pewter giggled.

“You need a diet, girl.” Mrs. Murphy arched an eyebrow.

“Shut up.” Pewter shot in front of everyone to push open the screen, then squeezed through the animal door into the kitchen.

Once in the kitchen, Harry poured sweet tea and put out some fruit and cheese.

Susan approached the reason for her visit to her best friend. “You’re not going to believe this.”

“What?” Harry leaned forward.

“Folly Steinhauser pledged to pay for the entire St. Luke’s reunion on October twenty-fifth.”

“What!”

“She did.”

“But she’s only attended St. Luke’s for two years. I mean, she’s only lived here for two years and,” Harry thought a moment, “been on the vestry board for one.”

“Herb was politically shrewd to call her to the board.”

“Well, Susan, if she’s going to cough up what will amount to thirty thousand dollars, give or take, I don’t wonder.”

“He didn’t know that originally.” Susan closed her eyes in appreciation as she sipped the tea, a sprig of fresh mint from the house garden enlivening the taste. “He was smart because she’s a come-here and she knows how to talk to the other come-heres.”

“I wasn’t aware that one talked to them. I thought, dumb rednecks that we are, we simply listened to their cascade of wisdom.”

“Don’t be snide.”

“All right, then. How about I’m tired of them telling me how they do it up North.”

“Harry, they aren’t all from the North.”

“Oh?”

“Some are from the Midwest.”

“That’s just as damned bad.” Harry burst out laughing.

“You are so prejudiced. Now, shut up and do listen.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She sighed. “Maybe turning forty has allowed me to enter the realm of crankiness.” She raised an eyebrow. “But I will listen to you.”

“Folly’s on the board of Planned Parenthood, and she’s gotten the other new girls—Carla Paulson, Penny Lattimore, and Elise Brennan—to all pitch in with stuff for the silent auction. She’s even gotten some of the doctors who work at Planned Parenthood to give a free consultation.”

“Do we have to get pregnant first?”

“They aren’t all OB/GYNs, smart-ass. Come on, now, give Folly some credit. This is wonderful and takes so much pressure off Herb. Every year he had to scramble to get the money for the reunion.”

“That’s a sore point with me. I’ve said for years, charge enough to cover the food.”

“He won’t do that. Herb says everyone should come home to St. Luke’s without feeling they have to write a check.” Susan reminded Harry of what she already knew.

“Fishes and loaves.”

“Boy, there have been some years when we’ve had to pray for a miracle, but this year it’s delivered.”

“Well,” Harry cupped her chin in her hand, her elbow on the table, which would have infuriated her long-departed mother, “it is, it is, but it irritates me that these people want to buy their way in.”

“To St. Luke’s?”

“Susan, you’re a political creature. You know as well as I do that the Episcopal church and the Lutheran church are the two most socially prominent churches. Worship is one thing. Mixing with people who can help business or make you feel like you’re with the A group is another.”

“Where does that put us?” Susan sliced a thin wedge of Brie, positioning it on a large Carr’s cracker.

“We were born to it. I don’t feel socially prominent. I don’t care about that stuff. I think it hurts people’s feelings.”

“It does, but people need their little groups. It comforts them.”

“You’ve been reading Edmund Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France again.” Harry smiled, as both she and Susan read voraciously, and not fluff.

“Mmm, no, but I remember it well enough. Back to your point. Yes, it can hurt feelings. Being excluded from a group is painful.”

Harry shrugged. “Find another group.”

“Stop being thick. We need to thank Folly at the next board meeting, and I suppose whatever she wants to do in the future we’d better go along on at least one project.” Susan stopped. “Do you hear me?”